


The Unsinkable Treasure

by AlexusOnFire



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018), Chilling Adventures of Sabrina - Sarah Rees Brennan
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:54:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24105505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexusOnFire/pseuds/AlexusOnFire
Summary: Drabbles about Mary Wardwell and the River Witch, Sycorax.Loosely based off the CAOS novels where Mary lives near a river spirit who, for some reason, never harms Mary (ofc my brain immediately goes to "well the river spirit is clearly in love with Mary, duh.")
Relationships: Maryx
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	1. The Before

Sycorax is just hanging out, doing her thing, drowning people, no biggie. Then one day she hears a sweet humming through the trees. Out pops Mary Wardwell, a book in one hand and flowers in the other, and she sits under a weeping willow close to the river's edge. Sycorax is immediately suspicious and watches her, hidden in the river. She watches as Mary presses the flowers, feeds some squirrels, and reads out loud, seemingly to no one. Sycorax is... intrigued. With a freshly drowned mortal at the bottom of the river, she decides to leave Mary alone today and simply listens to her voice, finding she actually doesn't mind it. After all, Sycorax doesn't get much company.

Once a week Mary comes to the same spot, book in hand, pressing flowers and reading to the wildlife. After a few weeks, Sycorax likes to think Mary is reading to _her_. Though it was always in the back of her mind that she should drown Mary, that she should _want_ to drown Mary, she was surprised to find she actually loathed the idea.

The day Mary Wardwell hand feeds a doe is the day Sycorax knows she's fallen irrevocably in love with her.

_And Sycorax has no fucking idea what to do with that._

So she starts leaving Mary little gifts. A seashell here, a pretty rock there. Mary is curious that now whenever she comes to the willow, there is some sort of... offering?... left exactly where she sits. It always makes her smile, and Sycorax, hidden in the waters, smiles as well.

The town of Greendale is relieved that there seems to be far less drownings this summer.

Winter comes and a deep sadness fills Sycorax as she watches her river slowly freezing over. Soon she will sleep for the cold months, and she wonders, she hopes, that the return of spring will also bring the return of Mary. As a final parting gift, Mary, wrapped in her warm jacket and carrying a blanket to sit under her tree, finds the most beautiful stone she has ever seen, pure black and perfectly rounded. Only when Mary finishes reading and pockets the stone to head home (whispering a soft "goodbye" to the mystery gift giver) does Sycorax finally sleep.


	2. The After

As the ice slowly descends back into the atmosphere, Sycorax awakens, breath filling her lungs once more as she takes in the sun beating down on the water around her. She rises, pushing through the surface with a great splash, a delighted smile on her face as her river flows around her waist. She feels the hunger in her bones, deep and unsatiated, like a bear fresh from hibernation. As she peers along the empty banks she sighs and begins to eye up a flurry of movement in a far corner of the river; for now, fish would have to do.

As she munches happily, using her sweet sing-song voice to tempt the scaly snacks closer to her, she feels a quiet yearn settle over her. She looks towards the great willow tree, utterly displeased to find the space underneath it empty. Though she slumbered through them, many months have passed since she had last seen Mary, and she dearly hoped that Mary had not forgotten the river bank. Once Sycorax's belly was full she began to scour the waters for a gift, something to leave at the base of the tree for Mary so she might remember to keep coming back. Sycorax feared the day Mary would choose a different spot, or even a different river entirely. Sycorax could not risk a move to Sweetwater River; it was too populated and altogether foreign to her. This sweet stream tucked neatly in the woods was her home, and she would not leave it… even for Mary.

Two weeks passed, winter fully slipping into spring. Sycorax had made a meal of three mortals already, growing more and more anxious with each passing day. She did not even bother to use her more slick tactics of luring the mortals into the water; she merely grabbed them on site, eager to distract herself from thoughts of Mary's voice reciting poetry with the gurgling sounds of a mortal's lungs being filled with anything but air. She tried to ignore the sadness blooming in her chest, but as the weathered book she'd found tucked at the bottom of her chest of treasures sat abandoned under the willow day after day, Sycorax began to lose hope. Perhaps all that was meant for them was a summer, warm and soft and fleeting. The river witch sunk deep into the banks, nestling herself amongst the sand and weeds, resolving to forget about Mary and simply continue on as she always had; caring for her waters and feasting on those careless enough to come too close to them.

Then, not more than a week later, Mary returned.

Her hair was pulled back into a low bun, a new curl of bangs framing her face. She was dressed in a red sweater and tweed skirt, and Sycorax was over the moon to see that the black stone she had left as a final parting gift now hung around Mary's neck from a delicate gold chain. Once she moved past the euphoria of seeing Mary again, Sycorax noted her arms were empty, devoid of the usual books and journals. A frown creased Mary's face, brows furrowed into deep wrinkles. She seemed lost in a shadow of melancholy that permeated her very essence; this upset Sycorax immensely. What had happened to Mary while she'd slept the cold away?

Sycorax stayed hidden amongst the reeds as Mary slumped beneath the willow, her arms crossing over her body as though to form a shield. She fiddled with the stone around her neck, the smoothness under her calloused fingers soothing as she let the sounds of the forest fill her. The trickling water of the river always cleared her mind, made it easier to focus and sort her thoughts. Her mind drifted to when she had last been here, the day before everything went black. She fiddled with the stone almost desperately now, trying to recall those stolen months.

Darkness. A cold that seeped into her very bones. Then Hellfire, licking every inch of her skin.

Her eyes shot open, gulping in the cool breeze that rustled the strands of leaves around her. She looked down beside her and spotted the book, a sad smile tugging the corners of her lips as she picked it up. Her mysterious gift giver was still here it seemed. 

_The Rivers and Their Witches._

_Witches._ How funny she should be given a book on the very topic she'd grown to fear. The volume looked to be old, though it was perhaps due to the apparent water damage, and despite her hesitancies, she could not stifle her curiosity. She slowly cracked open the spine, reading aloud to anything, or anyone, that would listen.

"The waters vast, stretched o'er great lengths, do contain mysteries most beautiful and foul…"

Sycorax settled back into the reeds, Mary's voice washing over her like a healing balm. Perhaps, if Mary could learn her story, could understand who, and what, she was, she would no longer have to hide behind gifts and rushing rapids.

Only then could she try and bring some comfort for the sadness her sweet Mary now wore as a cloak.


	3. Meeting Under The Willow Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to Kristen and Greta 🖤

Weeks have passed, Mary and Sycorax falling into their comfortable routine of reading and gift giving. Sycorax notices that Mary seems ever tense, less eager to interact with the world around her as she had done so previously. She's left to wonder what destruction winter had brought this sweet woman, the question nagging her even as night falls and Mary returns to the edge of the woods. 

Mary is nearly finished the book Sycorax gifted her, and she finally arrives at the section containing Sycorax herself. The river witch waits patiently as Mary reads aloud the various myths and legends, chuckling at the unbelieving comments Mary makes at some of the more absurd ones. When Mary flips the page to a hand-drawn picture of Sycorax, she runs her hand across the aged ink and feels an immediate kinship with the solemn-looking witch; she was bound to her waters as Mary is bound to her cottage, a life of solitude that, while well-chosen for them, was constantly judged by those who wouldn't even bother to take the time to understand.

The quiet mentation is not lost on Sycorax, and she feels a strange sensation overcome her.

This is it. The moment to reveal herself.

She slowly pulls herself from the waters, attempting to smooth down her dress before pushing back the tall reeds hiding her.

 _Nerves._ The strange sensation is her nerves overtaking her, twisting her stomach into a thousand tiny knots.

Mary lifts her head at the approach of the stranger, her body tensing at the odd appearance of the woman. The closer she steps, the more clear her features become to Mary. Long, wet ringlets hang around a slightly scaled face, sharp cheekbones protruding like her ridged forehead. Her lips are full and eyes charcoal-lined, but perhaps the strangest of all to Mary are the barbels hanging around her mouth and chin.

Despite the aquatic appearance of the woman, Mary can't help but think she holds her own type of beauty.

Sycorax doesn't speak, but merely holds out her hand, a smoothed stone carved into the shape of a fish in her palm. Mary looks down at the sketch once more, noticing more and more similarities between it and the woman in front of her, and fingers the pendant around her neck, the pieces slowly sliding into place as she recalls the previous summer.

"You're the gift giver. Sycorax."

Sycorax nods and shuffles in place, water droplets splashing from her to the ground.  
Months ago, had Sycorax emerged before Mary, she would have run off screaming and never returned, fearful of strange creatures and her own imagination. But now, after everything she's been through, the lost months, the nightmares, the strange tales of her appearance and behaviour…

"Would… would you like to come sit?"


End file.
